Singing in the rain
by Jane Bell
Summary: Rain, loud music, bitterness and unexpected encounters. Troypay; light Ryella Rated M for safety.


_Disclaimer: All characters to the half-naked, very cute, little mouse. For fun, not for profit! The songs here mentioned belong to their respective writers/singers/labels. The "Tutti-frutti" PJ are actually mine, though._

**Singing**** in ****the ****rain**

Lying was wrong, but lying to save your night wasn't half as wrong, was it?

Sharpay thought it wasn't. Sincerely, she was in no mood to go to Taylor's that night, not when the sole reason the Wildcats were going was because it was said girl's niece's first birthday, and poor Taylor needed help looking after the bunch of little kids coming, since their mothers would be busy sipping coffee. The idea was stupid to begin with: who in their right minds would throw their one-year-old daughter a party _at night_?

"Shar, you should get ready," Ryan told her passing by her room with a hat in each hand and a third upon his head. "What do you think, red, white or red and white?"

"Green," she grunted rolling over on her bed. "And I'm not going."

"Why not? It'll be fun." He inspected the red hat and gave the white a side glace. "You know, green wouldn't really match. I'll settle for red, I guess."

"I was only invited because I'm your sister. They're all still mad at me because of what I did in Lava Springs," she moaned while toying with a teddy bear sitting on her pillow.

"Well, you did make them go through hell, turn Troy into your poodle and dress like a collector's Barbie doll..."

"Dress like what?!"

"...But they're nice people, Shar. They'll give you a second chance."

Sharpay growled, then breathed audibly, rolled over and decided against throwing a pillow at him. She hated when Ryan was right. "A hundredth, you mean."

"Trust me, if _I_ haven't given up on you yet, I don't think they will." He went into his room and came back with two shirts, a plain white one and another white with thin red stripes. "Which do you like best?"

"You're my brother, you're supposed to never give up on me," she said stretching her neck to look at him. "The white one. Matches the hat."

"Thanks," he said and, on the way back to his room, shouted. "Just change, will you?"

"I won't!" she meowed like some spoiled child. "Tell them I'm sick, busy, dead, anything! I'm not going!"

It took Ryan a full ten minutes to put on the shirt and the hat, which spoke of some her make-up likely disappearing and a hidden reason for his stubbornly telling her to get ready. By the time he showed up on her door frame again he was fully dressed and smelling of his best perfume.

"Who are you overdressing for?"

"What makes you think it's not a what?"

"Oh, please," she groaned, rolling her eyes theatrically. "Taking care of a bunch of smelly toddlers doesn't call for French perfume. Hitting on girls does."

Ryan smiled. Not a good sign. "Maaay-be. But," he pointed a finger at her, "that fails to be the point, dear sister. Point is, we're going to be late."

"There is no _we_ this time. Go alone. I'm tired, sleepy, with a bad headache. Not in a party mood."

"Fine," he said throwing his hands in the air, more theatrically than even she could have managed. "A twin without his twin is no twin at all, just an incomplete, soulless body. How am I to pretend to go to the party and in truth have a secret date while you lie here, unattended, in these Tutti-frutti PJ? Hardly fair."

"Secret date? With whom?"

"Couldn't agree more, Shar," he said putting his hands in his pockets as if her answer had been "Indeed", then tuned to leave. "Try not to have a party of your own before the parents or I are back."

"Tootles!" she called after him frustrated. What had the Wildcats done to her brother and who was this weirdo who looked just like Ryan?

Outside, around the corner, Ryan took his cell phone. "Hey, Gabby? ... Plan Alfa successful. Is plan Beta on the move? ... Good, I'll see you in half an hour!"

* * *

Thunder roared above as Troy finally found the car keys. He had forgotten time entirely that afternoon: he had played basketball with his father 'til he could stand no longer, then showered zombie-like and fallen asleep on the couch. By the time his mother woke him to say Gabriella had called, he was already a considerable half an hour late to pick her up, and it took him the other half to get ready and find the bloody keys.

"Troy," Mrs. Bolton called from the kitchen. "Will you be back for dinner?"

"No, mom," he replied hurriedly. "I'm going over to Gabby's and then to Taylor's, no idea when I'll be back."

"Why are you going to Gabriella's? She just called to say she's already at Taylor's."

Troy mis-tied his shoelace and stared up at his mother. "She what?"

Mrs. Bolton put her hands on her hips, annoyed. "Didn't you listen to what I told you when I woke you up? Gabriella called to say Marta picked her up fifteen minutes after you didn't show up."

"Damn," he cursed and, before his mother could voice her disbelief at his use of language, he asked "did she say anything else?"

"To give your friend Sharpay a lift, I think."

"What? Give _Sharpay_ a lift?"

"Call her if you don't believe me," Mrs. Bolton said irritated and going back to the kitchen. "Do get home before tomorrow, will you?"

"Yeah, okay, mom..."

He did call Gabriella once the car was out of the garage. It took longer than usual for her to answer it, but he took it as due to noisy toddlers. She was rather breathless when saying "Hi, Troy!"

"Hey," he greeted, and immediately stumbled on apologies. "So sorry for not coming, you won't believe-"

"Don't worry, everyone oversleeps sometimes." He could almost hear her smile, and she went on before he could ask how she knew. "Your mother told me. But no worries: I'm already here and you're on your way, right?"

"Yes, and breaking the speed limit," he smiled against the phone. "So, how's the party?"

"Fun, poo-smelling, but fun." He heard her smile again, felt a wave of affection for his girlfriend enveloping him. "You should see Taylor's niece, she's a candy."

He tapped the phone fondly, and then remembered what his mother had told him Gabriella had called for. "Hey, listen, did you really ask me to get Sharpay?"

"She's the only one who hasn't come yet – apart from you, of course." She said more quietly, which he found strange.

"What about Ryan? Weren't they coming together?"

"Ry was at the hairdresser, Sharpay at home." She answered, and Troy frowned both at the idea of Ryan at the hairdresser and at the little pet-name. "She's without the car, and since you're the one late, we thought you could pick her up."

Rain finally broke the skies, falling down hard on his battered windshield. Not a good sign, and he certainly didn't like her tone. "Okay, I guess," he tried, faking humour in order to amuse her, "let us see if the Ice Princess thinks this humble carriage worthy of her bottom."

Her laugh was light, the one he enjoyed hearing, but too brief to have been sincere. "Just get her here, alright? See ya!"

The line was down before he could say their usual "Love you!".

* * *

There was but one word to describe a night home alone when it was raining and you knew your neighbours weren't home: fabulous. And that was exactly how Sharpay was planning to spend her night: _fabulously_.

Louder and louder grew the storm outside and the music in her room. And her voice. She had been dancing and singing and screaming at the top of her lungs for the greater part of the last hour, energy and a dangerous mix of feelings exploding in a musical frenzy which could be nailed down (however rustically) to the following:

She was immensely mad at Ryan for having become one of _them_. She hated Gabriella for being responsible for it. Entirely. In fact, she hated Gabriella the very most out of jealousy: she had Troy drooling over her every step, something Sharpay had been trying to and hadn't achieve since preschool. At some point, she hated Troy for being so perfect and so perfectly desirable – not only absurdly cute, but also kind, honest, right in every sense – and not wanting her – the person who tried the hardest in the whole East High to be perfect. Which reminded her she was mad at Taylor and Chad for being so perfect together, for feigning such compassion for her scorned self to the point of inviting her to this dreadful excuse for a party. It made her madder at Ryan for leaving her alone that night, and mad at her parents for the same reason.

She'd never admit she was the maddest at herself for everything, sorry for having done a lot of other things, sorry for nor having done or said others, feeling stupid and abandoned.

Worst of all, somewhere deep down she felt that she deserved it.

And so, between held-back tears and an outrageous choreography for Madonna and Justin's "4 Minutes", she proceeded cleansing her soul of bitterness. Lightening painted the sky bright, only to darken it less than a second later, the rain and the never-fading heat turning the closed French windows to the backyard into an insult. Hers was, after all, the only room downstairs; she should make good use of it. Getting a cold was but a good excuse to miss school tomorrow, to which she didn't fancy going anyway.

Mind made up, Sharpay Evans, wearing naught but her pyjamas, danced happily, more or less prettily, in a sexy-nearing-ridiculous way, into her backyard. She was drenched to the bone in less than a minute, which gave her tears the best disguise ever to fall freely, shamelessly.

She had never felt freer in her life. Bold, perhaps brazen. The music, oh God, so loud, resounded in her head, the rain on her skin both made her shiver and delighted her, the warmth in the air was a caress, the wet grass under her toes a comfort, an anchor to reality, to this, to life: the feeling of being half-naked and completely herself. She would start again the following day, be the one the world deserved, never snob anyone again, never match her clothes' with Ryan's, tell her brother everyday that she loved him and that he was her best friend, sincerely try to make friends with those infuriating Wildcats...

The moment filled her with so many possibilities and power that she thought she might even slam Troy Bolton against his locker and kiss him senseless then and there.

* * *

Rain was falling too hard on his poor car when it (unexpectedly) died. Troy was actually surprised it had made it this far – at least he was in the right block (given, of course, that he had remembered correctly the location of Sharpay's house, hopefully). With no other alternative than walking, he grabbed his umbrella and got out of the car. His new basketball snickers would get wet, at which he frowned, however not for long. Tisdale's "Shadows of Night" was playing somewhere, making his lips curve upwards; that was a girly song he had expected to listen to at Taylor's niece's party, not coming from some of Sharpay's rich, snobby neighbours. He could only imagine her scowling at the song and mumbling to her dog that she could sing it so much better, the song would even sound good.

It took him a full minute to realise it was actually from _her_ house it was coming, and that she _was_ singing it.

Feeling awkward, Troy rang the doorbell, but the music and the storm were so loud not even he could hear the shy bell ringing. He tried knocking on the door and was surprised when he found it unlocked.

It was wrong to barge in, wasn't it? Of course it was; he should call Gabriella and have her ask Ryan to call his sister so she could open the door to him – Troy would do it himself if he had her number. Right, he was going to do exactly that...

He was going to, truly. Trouble was, when he was about to, Sharpay began an enviable performance of Britney's "Break the Ice".

If before it was some sense of loyalty to his friends he felt was the reason he had come to the Ice Queen's home, it was then sheer curiosity that made him open the front door and creep silently though the house in search of her. He passed the cream-coloured living-room, loveless in very atom of its composition, into a long corridor filled with portraits of twin babies dressed in identical clothing, disregarding their sexes so much one couldn't discern one from the other. With little difficulty he found the door to the backyard, a glass one which gave him a VIP position at which to watch the show.

Troy might have summoned a word to describe either how he felt or what he saw, but both shocked and outrageous lacked all the intensity the moment required and, sincerely, he wasn't thinking clearly enough from that point on to think of words. And who would be, who _could_? A mere five meters from him was a half-naked Sharpay, soaked through, shaking her bottom and boobs, singing more-or-less nicely, playing the fool, the stripper, the cute, the wild, all in one amidst the rain, the thunders and the deafening music coming from the room to his right. He, on the other hand, could feel his eyes popping out of his face, a tightening of his jeans, his mouth falling and his nose pressing to the cool of the glass as he leaned on it.

He hadn't expected the door to swing open.

He fell face first into the neat grass, being drenched even before he had hit it. Troy froze on spot, afraid to get up and face her – what would she say? Well, she'd scream, that's for certain. He waited a fair change of song ("Who I am" this time), but no scream came. Could it be she hadn't seen him? It was raining absurdly heavily and the music, too, was absurdly loud, but she hadn't heard him? No way.

In fact she hadn't heard him at all – too much noise and distractions inside her head to pay attention to some swinging door, probably just the wind –, but nothing prevented her from seeing him once he sat up rubbing his nose. Then, she _did_ scream.

* * *

Sitting on her fluffy carpet, which was then soaked as herself, Sharpay rubbed the pink towel against her arm until it hurt, an angry need for warmth guiding her movements. Heavens, she was freezing cold! And where the hell was that basketball moron with her tea? Grr, it was his entire damn fault!!

In the kitchen, Troy had finally found the kettle and put the water to boil. He had known barging in wasn't a good idea, he should just have turned around and gone to Taylor's and forgotten about this stupid girl...

"_Bolton!!"_

"_Sharpay – I'm sorry, I-"_

"_WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"_

"_I came to- Let's get out of the rain, shall we?"_

"_What? Can't hear you! The music's too loud!"_

"_Rain! Go inside!"_

They had, and then she had screamed some other obscenities at him, to which he paid no attention what so ever (in the rush to get into the house, her already-drenched pyjamas had shifted and a round breast, peaked rosy nipple and all, had been in plain sight), and then ran to a bathroom, threw him a white towel and told him to make her tea in order to warm up. He was thankful she also lowered the stereo's volume, in spite of an "I can't believe it/you!!" occasionally coming from her slammed door.

The water took an unusually long time to start boiling, and he thought he'd take anything, all of her lecturing, hysterics, even a beating, if only he could erase the picture his mind seemed to have photographed of her in the rain. No, it was far worse than a photograph; it was the whole movie. The photograph, he acknowledged with a shiver that had nothing to do with being wet, was of her chest as they had entered.

"Unless you like drinking hot water," he heard her voice coming into the kitchen, "the teabags are here."

Sharpay took a small wooden box filled with teabags from the cupboard to his left. Her hair was still dripping and she had a pink towel around her shoulders. She seemed very small and thin like that, somewhat frail, and that was when he noticed her eyes were swollen.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled simply to her middle section, where, to the greater discomfort of his pants, he found her purple panties were showing.

Sharpay didn't seem to notice. "What were you doing there?" she asked getting them a pair of mugs. "What are you doing _here_, anyways?"

"I was meant to pick you up so we could go to Taylor's," he told her knees, which didn't help at all the state of his poor pants. "The party, remember?"

"I told Ryan I wasn't going," she said sitting down at the table, which earned her a relieved sigh from him. "Are you alright?"

"Hm, yeah, alright, 'course I am," he said quickly and made to take the kettle from the fire. "Why wouldn't I- _ouch!_"

"Troy, you moron!" she called running up to him. The imbecile had grabbed the burning hot kettle with his bare hands. "Let me see it!"

Her hands were colder than his good one, seeing as he now had quite a burn on the other one. "It's nothing, really," he said trying to draw her away from him lest she noticed his less than comfortable state.

She made an annoyed face and ran somewhere, returning within the instant with a remedy. "Hold out your hand and be quiet," she said already grabbing his hand and applying the cool gel. In spite of her scolding face, she was careful, gentle as she tended him.

"Thank you," he told her, finding her eyes for the first time since he had come in.

Women were very complex, he thought, because she smiled at him. It was a small smile, a bare curling of the corners of her lips, but unmistakably a smile: small and genuine.

"You're welcome," she replied. "Be more careful, okay?"

"'Kay."

She was still holding his hand, but neither noticed. Her eyes were swollen, true, and her nose was quite reddish. Somehow he knew it wasn't because of the rain.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, at which she chuckled.

"You just got a first degree burn in you basketball player hand; you're asking if _I _am alright?"

"You've been crying."

It wasn't a question, and her smiling face fell. They locked gazes for a second, but whatever she saw in his made her turn away and walk back to the mugs and teabags on the table.

"Preposterous, Troy," she told the window and pulled the towel around her more tightly. "I was just trying to enjoy a night home alone, you know, music, rain and singing, until _you_ came in..."

She had meant the last part to reprehend him, but her voice betrayed all intentions of seeming fine.

"You were crying," he repeated.

She was silent for a moment, then turned to him with a contorted face, something between a scowl, held-back tears and an ironical smile.

"I was!" she half screamed. "I was crying!"

Troy would have backed a step if he hadn't already been leaning against the counter. Tentatively, he asked "Why?"

"Why?" her voice raised more, then she ran a clumsy hand through her hair, grunted and turned on spot, the loss for words frustrating her. She stopped and gave him a side glace, one filled with both hate and adoration, then breathed deeply and said "I have no idea."

"No idea?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, no idea," she repeated crossing her arms and once more grabbed the mugs, pouring steaming water into both. "Now, tea. I'm freezing!"

They sat down, opposite each other, initially in silence. Troy eyed his hand with worry. He wouldn't be able to write for some time, let alone play basketball. His father and the Wildcats weren't going to like it at all...

The Wildcats!

"Oh, shit!" he cursed, and she looked up disapprovingly. "The party!"

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Forget about the party, they probably already figured out we're not coming."

But he had already his cell phone in hand (it was dry, thankfully), and was dialling Gabriella's number, then making a face.

"It's off, isn't it?" she asked.

"It is," he answered hanging up and looking at her with furrowed brows. "How do you know?"

"Say I have hunch," _that she's with Ryan_, she thought, but kept quiet. Ignorance was bliss, in his case at least. Lying wasn't wrong if it meant saving someone's night.

He chose to ignore the information he knew she was biting back. Instead, he decided to probe her more. "I wish I had a hunch too."

She sipped her tea and looked at him cautiously. "About...?"

"About why someone so perfect like you would be singing in the rain like some mad person."

Her brown eyes widened and her voice held no pretence or wish for flattery when she asked "Perfect? Me?"

"Yes, you," he said puzzled as if she had just questioned the laws of nature. "Why?"

She snorted, not theatrically as usual; just snorted. "I'm the least perfect person in East High, Troy. Your Wildcats hate me, I'm always trying to outshine my brother, I humiliate people and I envy your girlfriend. How's that for perfect?"

It took them both a moment to realise what she had just said. Sharpay's cheeks warmed; Troy just stared at her as the puzzle pieces slowly fit into place. She was sad, wasn't she? Feeling low about all those things she had just carelessly said, and the singing and dancing in the rain was some escape. He knew what that felt like; playing basketball all afternoon was his personal escape from tiny suspicions he shouldn't have regarding his girlfriend.

His good hand was holding hers before he knew. "The Wildcats don't hate you; you haven't outshined Ryan or humiliated anyone since Lava Springs."

"Yeah, since last week." Her voice was growing raw, her eyes brightening. He was so gentle, so much kindness in those pools of blue, almost as if...

Sharpay stopped leaning forwards. It was his nature to be like this, perfectly right. That was the reason she liked him better than herself. His soothing her meant nothing, for _he_ wasn't leaning forwards.

"I still envy your girlfriend, though," she mumbled to her steaming mug, welcoming its heat on her cold face.

Troy stopped leaning forwards. He knew she did, knew she'd carried this thing for him since fifth grade, maybe earlier, but was it this serious? This deeply felt? Her eyes were definitely filling with tears at his silence and inaction.

"_I think like you better than I like myself."_

But he still held her hand, and with that he pulled her towards him.

"You shouldn't," he whispered, and she felt his warm breath on her cheeks. "You really shouldn't."

Both their lips were cool from the rain, his less for the far shorter explosion, but hers took in the warmth greedily. At that moment she knew not her name, where she was, which language she spoke – in the name of all holy deities, she was kissing Troy Bolton! He, on the other hand, knew neither what he was doing nor why, only that he was enjoying it immensely.

It ended rather displeasingly, with her breaking it because of a damned need to sneeze. Her cold had anticipated itself, and she cursed her carelessness for it. Her "Atchoo!" was so high-pitched Troy laughed, and, as she held her nose with flaming cheeks, Sharpay too cracked a smile and both giggled at some incoherence of the scene they couldn't quite point.

"Hasn't your mother ever told you that playing in the rain isn't good for your health?" he asked playfully as he got up and went to stand by her side, rubbing the towel against her shoulders. "You should take a hot shower now, then get under a blanket and sleep."

"Yes, daddy," she teased, getting up and hugging him. He enveloped her in a warm embrace and she mumbled a quiet "Thank you."

The kiss meant nothing, she knew, and neither did this cuddling, but it didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it. She could, should, and felt bold again. She loved him, knew it and had never felt it as strongly as she did then. She'd say it.

When done, he was surprised by the wish to repeat the three words to her. He loved her at that moment. This moment when Gabriella didn't exist and Sharpay was so warm in his arms, his nose prickling with a held-back sneeze and everything felt so eerily right.

"Me too," he whispered against her wet hair, so quietly he might not have said anything at all. It had quite probably been her imagination, Sharpay thought, or her heart was beating so loud she was hearing things.

He sneezed then – damned epiphany – and it dissolved the moment swiftly. Sharpay was once again a half-naked girl he shouldn't be with and she was but remembering some daydream which had been true seconds prior.

"I'll give you some of Ryan's clothes, if you want," she said awkwardly. "And I'll shower now. Not going to the party, by the way."

"Me neither," he said, an empty attempt (why?) to make the moment return. He missed her warmth. "Mind if I use the shower? After you, that is."

It was pushing her luck far too much to suggest they used the shower together; what she had felt when he hugged her might have been just something in his pockets and not what her devious mind thought it was. "You can use Ryan's bathroom, although you'll come out smelling like a flowerbed."

He smirked. The moment was lost, but something else wasn't. "No problem."

"It's the third door to the right on the second floor. Oh, and Troy," she said as he turned to leave, her cheeks faintly pink. "I was thinking about watching a movie with popcorn, wanna stay over?"

Stay over. They had school the following day. He had told his mother he would be home that night. If not her parents, then Ryan was bound to come and find him there. Gabriella would know for sure and not like it. The Wildcats would gossip, just like they did about "Twinkle Towne" and him liking the new freaky math girl.

It couldn't be much worse with the freaky drama queen.

"Sure," he smiled and then hurried upstairs before his sense of reason came back.


End file.
